


Falling for the First Time

by astudyinrose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Morning Sex, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinrose/pseuds/astudyinrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock wakes up on the first Valentine's Day morning since he and John became a couple, he comes to a startling realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling for the First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scullyseviltwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyseviltwin/gifts).



> For Leslie, who has been wishing for snow lately, so I decided to give her some fictitious snow. Also very fluffy smut, because I can. Happy Valentine’s Day, my darling.
> 
> Thanks so much to Darcy for being an awesome beta as always.

Sherlock would never describe himself as a romantic.

John, on the other hand, was a romantic through and through. Despite the fact that they had become a couple in the early fall, John had decided that the day that they had met was their “true” anniversary. On January 29th he had filled the lab in St. Bart’s with candles, and he’d brought takeout from their favorite Chinese restaurant. Later, he’d “given” Sherlock a corpse who had died of a mysterious illness as an anniversary gift (it had really been a murder by the ex-wife, of course). Then he’d proceeded to shag Sherlock senseless when they’d come home. It had been… acceptable.

Sherlock had expected Valentine’s Day to be no different. After all, it was their first one as a couple, and John was the romantic of the two of them. As long as there was some kind of shag involved, Sherlock probably wouldn’t object to whatever John had planned.

When Sherlock blinked his eyes open on an unusually cold Valentine’s Day morning, therefore, he hadn’t expected to feel any different. He was on his side, turned toward the window, and he could see snowflakes dancing downward against a white-grey sky. John was snoring softly behind him, his warm body a solid, comforting presence. Normally, Sherlock was an early riser, getting up far before John, always itching to start the day. Today, though… he felt completely content to stay cocooned in the warmth afforded by John and by the down blanket covering them both. For some reason, there was nothing he would rather do than stay here, with the love of his life, until something forced him to leave.

_The love of his life._

The thought caught him off-guard. He’d danced around it before, but he’d never actually given it a name. He’d never loved before, never said it to anyone before, and now that John was in his life he could not foresee ever loving anyone else ever again.

For Sherlock’s entire life, he’d felt like there was something missing, some kind of emptiness that he had searched to fill; first through the drugs, then through cases, but it had never really been enough. It had been a stopgap measure. But now with John here—John in his arms, in his life, filling him with his body and his mind and everything else… for the first time he could remember, Sherlock felt completely, utterly, _whole_.

Still, that phrase running through his head was so utterly, uncharacteristically romantic. Sappy, even.

Sherlock watched the snowflakes fluttering down, the blissful silence of a winter’s day interrupted only by the sound of John breathing. He didn’t shy away from any of it. The only thing he felt was an overwhelming sense of contentment.

He turned over, and was immediately greeted with the sight of John’s relaxed face, his blond eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks. Sherlock watched him for a few minutes, enjoying the rare peacefulness that never lasted for them. Eventually, trying not to wake John, he carefully slid down the bed so that he could nestle his head under John’s chin, sliding his arm over John’s waist. He tangled their feet together for good measure.

John sniffled, and his even breathing stuttered. “Morning,” he rasped.

“Sorry, I meant not to wake you,” Sherlock muttered, but he nuzzled his nose into John’s neck, just breathing him in.

“S’fine,” John said, pulling Sherlock closer and kissing his temple.

“It’s snowing.” His voice was muffled into John’s neck.

He felt John turn his head slightly to look over at the window. “So it is,” he said, his voice soft.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Sherlock said, feeling himself flush slightly as he said the words. He could feel John smiling even though he couldn’t see it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” John said, scooting down so their heads were even. His eyes were the deepest blue Sherlock had ever seen them, and his silvery hair was mussed from sleep in an endearingly boyish way. “I didn’t think you’d want to celebrate it.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “I...” he said, feeling himself falter slightly. “Um.”

“It’s alright,” John said softly, reaching over to stroke Sherlock’s hair. “You don’t have to explain.”

“No, I,” Sherlock cleared his throat, leaning back a bit so that he could see John's face. “I usually only care about this day because there’s always a lot of murders. Jilted lovers, envious ex-mistresses, _et cetera_.” He frowned. That wasn’t really what he’d meant to say.

John chuckled. “Take it easy with the sweet nothings, you’re making my teeth hurt,” he teased.

“No, I didn’t mean...” Sherlock reached up and tugged one of the knots that had formed during the night out of his hair. For some reason, it felt important to get this out. “It never mattered to me in any… I never cared about this day before, because I never had any reason to celebrate it before.”

John cocked his head a bit. “And now…?”

“ _Now_ … I do.” Sherlock said it with an air of finality, though it was not really all he wanted to say, but at the same time it was exactly what he wanted to say.

“Wow.” John’s eyes danced with mirth. “You’re such a sap. I had no idea.”

“Oh for god’s sake.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“No, I think it’s cute.” John chuckled, poking him in the side lightly. “Sherlock Holmes, hopeless romantic.”

“Now you’re just taking the piss,” Sherlock huffed.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop,” John said.

Sherlock glared at him, but John just raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not very good at this," Sherlock sighed. 

"I'm not either," John admitted. 

Sherlock sighed again. “I just… I don’t care about an arbitrary date where you’re supposed to celebrate love, but... I do. Love you, that is. And any day that you’re here with me is a day I want to celebrate, because that fact in itself is extraordinary enough.”

John’s forehead crinkled, and a range of emotions flicked through his eyes, including the look he got when he was about to snog Sherlock senseless. “I love you too,” he said. “You’re the love of my fucking life, actually.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “What took us so long?”

“We were idiots.”

“Understatement.”

“I’m sorry for all I put you through.” John’s tone was laced with a trace of sadness. 

Locked in his gaze, like a cold chill, Sherlock felt that part of himself, the pre-John self, the lonely man he’d been before. The part that had been separated from John, achingly empty, while he was with Mary. He never wanted to feel like that again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sherlock whispered.

John shook his head, eyes glistening a bit. “Some of it was.”

Sherlock frowned. “Mary shooting me wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have seen it, I—” John rubbed his hand over his face.

 _Not this again._ They’d had this same argument over and over again, and John would never stop torturing himself over things he’d had no control over. Wanting to stop the words from leaving John’s mouth, and the emotion behind them, Sherlock leaned in to capture John’s mouth with his own.

“Mmph.” John made a surprised sound, probably about to protest about morning breath, but instead he pulled Sherlock closer, giving in to it. Their teeth clicked slightly before they fell into a rhythm, their lips sliding softly against each other, John’s tongue tangling with Sherlock’s. It was a kiss of reassurance, for both of them, to chase away the pain of almost having lost this. John took his time, skimming his hand around Sherlock’s back to squeeze his arse. The movement pulled their hips together, and Sherlock’s cock, which was already half-hard, brushed against John’s hardening erection.

Making a sound of encouragement, John pulled him closer, nipping Sherlock’s bottom lip as he trailed his hand down Sherlock’s sternum. Sherlock threw his leg over John’s hip, and John groaned, sliding his hand down Sherlock’s stomach, pushing Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms down to free his cock.

“John,” Sherlock groaned, unable to say anything more, letting himself melt into John’s embrace.

“I have something for you,” John whispered, licking into his mouth as he stroked Sherlock’s cock, tantalizingly slow. 

“W-what?” Sherlock gasped, feeling faint. Probably from the blood rushing from his brain to… other places.

“Your Valentine’s day present.”

“Ahh,” Sherlock breathed, arching backward. John thumbed the head of his cock, and Sherlock clung to his night shirt, trying to remember to breathe. _For god’s sake_ , it wasn’t as if he had never done this before.

“Your present is… that I’ll do _whatever_ you want.” John waggled his eyebrows flirtatiously.

“A-anything?” Sherlock stuttered.

John nodded, his hand still moving maddeningly slowly. “Anything. I could tie you down, suck your cock until you come down my throat.”

“Oh… _god_ …” Sherlock gasped.

“Or I could lick your arse with my tongue,” John whispered, stroking up and rubbing his thumb over the head of Sherlock’s cock. “Until your cock is so hard that you beg me to touch it, to let you come."

“I…” Sherlock couldn’t seem to form any coherent sentences at this point, his entire world narrowing down to John’s hand, to his voice.

“Or… I know we don’t do it very often, so…” John raised his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze, his eyes dark. “Would you like to fuck me?”

A shiver ran down Sherlock’s spine. “I…”

“Mmmm?” John breathed, kissing Sherlock deeply, slowly, making him whimper again.

“No,” Sherlock managed to say, finally, in between kisses.

“No?” John chuckled, his hand still moving up Sherlock’s cock lazily.

“I want… I want…” Sherlock leaned his forehead against John’s, panting into John’s mouth. “Ahhh. I _need_.” He needed John to fill him, to be part of him, to be inside of him. It was almost a physical ache, deep inside.

“Yes?” John said, his amusement creeping into his voice as he continued to torture Sherlock with deft fingers.

“I need you to fuck me,” Sherlock finally managed, in a rush.

“Oh.” John stopped stroking him, his eyes darkening impossibly further.

“ _Please_ ,” Sherlock breathed, feeling a flush rise on his face. It was almost embarrassing, how much he wanted John, but he didn’t care.

“Of course, of course love, if that’s what you want.” John leaned in to kiss each of his eyes, a motion so tender that Sherlock almost couldn’t stand it.

“I _need_ it,” Sherlock said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

John exhaled, his breath hot. “Okay, just wait a second, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Sherlock nodded, and then John’s body was gone, but Sherlock barely had time to register the loss before John was back. John quickly divested himself of his sleeping shirt, and was now only in his boxers. He pushed Sherlock down onto his back, settling himself between Sherlock’s legs, and Sherlock heard the click of a bottle. Sherlock closed his eyes, arching his head backward.

He heard John pour lube on his fingers, and he held the base of Sherlock’s cock with the other. Then he paused. “Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock looked down at John, his hair glinting in the morning light, and he was smiling up at Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock faltered, uncertain.

“It’s just… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you know that?” John’s gaze flicked down Sherlock’s body appreciatively.

Sherlock frowned. “I—”

But before he could say more, John sunk his mouth down on Sherlock’s cock, engulfing him in wet heat. Sherlock threw his head back, fisting his hands in the sheets. John bobbed slowly up and down on Sherlock’s length as his lubed fingers traced down to his hole, circling around it.

“John,” Sherlock gasped. 

John growled, taking him all the way down his throat, as he pressed one finger inside Sherlock, massaging the muscle to open him up.

“More,” Sherlock breathed. John obeyed, adding a finger, still bobbing up and down. He worked Sherlock’s hole long enough that he could press in three, and Sherlock moaned loudly. John didn’t stop sucking Sherlock’s cock as he pushed his fingers in and out in long strokes, brushing against Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock was losing himself already, unable to speak, unable to tell John to stop.

But John knew him so well that he was able to stop right before Sherlock reached the point of no return, pulling his fingers out and stopping the suction on his cock. Sherlock cried out at the loss, but John quickly divested himself of his boxers, settling himself once more in between Sherlock’s thighs, their chests pressed together.

He framed Sherlock’s face with both hands, kissing him deeply, as he rolled his hips, tantalizing Sherlock by sliding their cocks against one another. It was delicious torture, but it wasn’t enough. He needed… god, he _needed._

“John,” Sherlock gasped. “Please.”

John leaned back, lubing up his cock with one hand and then positioning himself. “I know what you need,” he said. He pushed in, hard, just like Sherlock wanted.

“Ahhh.” Sherlock arched upward, curling all his limbs around John. It was truly incomparable, the feeling of being filled with John. It would never be enough, he’d always want more.

Once he was completely inside, John stilled completely, and leaned down to suck at Sherlock’s neck. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice had a hard edge to it, the kind it had when he was about to shag Sherlock into the mattress. Which was just fine with Sherlock.

“Yessss.” Sherlock sighed, clenching his muscles around John’s hard cock.

John groaned, licking and nipping harder on Sherlock’s neck. Slowly, torturously slowly, he started to roll his hips, grinding himself into Sherlock.

“ _Ah_ ,” Sherlock gasped, tilting his hips upward into John’s movements. He could do this forever, always, having John on top of him like this, inside of him, filling him.

John held him like he was a precious thing, and Sherlock felt himself falling apart at the same time that he was being put back together. They stayed like that for a long time, what felt like an endless, slow fuck, Sherlock’s favourite kind, even if it was torture. John brought him to the edge over and over again, pulling back just enough that he didn’t come, while fluttering kisses over his face and neck. John had always been a driving force in his life, and in bed he was no different.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Sherlock whimpered, fisting his hand in the short hairs on the back of John’s head, tugging on them as he felt his eyes starting to water.

“That’s it, you’re so amazing, god,” John said, starting to pick up the pace. He pressed forward until Sherlock was practically bent in half, kissing him deeply as he drove his cock inward, again and again.

John slammed his hand into the headboard for more stability, pumping his hips inward, his stomach rubbing against Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock felt his orgasm cresting, and he tilted his hips up even more with John’s every movement, trying to get more of John, even though there was no more to be had.

“Come for me, c’mon,” John panted, reaching down to stroke Sherlock’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Sherlock probably wailed embarrassingly loudly as he spilled over into John’s hand, but he couldn’t find the will to care. John held him through it, kissing him deeply until his cock was spent.

"Now you," Sherlock managed to say, dazed.

“Oh fuck, yes, god yes,” John gasped, starting to thrust again, chasing after his own release.

A mass of exhausted limbs, Sherlock just held on as John thrust hard into him, again and again. John dropped his forehead to Sherlock’s neck, biting down just as he came, and Sherlock moaned again at the feeling of John’s cock pulsing, his come filling him.

Neither of them moved for a long moment. Sherlock wanted it to last as long as possible: this feeling of John inside of him, the feeling of being joined, John’s breath hot against his neck.

“I love you,” Sherlock managed to say, through the haze. “I know I don’t say it enough… but I always feel it.”

John raised his head to kiss Sherlock softly. “I know. I love you too.” 

“Good.” Sherlock groaned, equal parts sore and content, as John pulled himself out.

“We should shower,” John said, unhurriedly wiping them both off with his shirt, then lying back down.

Sherlock curled himself around John, sighing contentedly.

“What else should we do today?” John closed his eyes, his voice already drowsy. “Maybe there’ll be a case. I could call Lestrade.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

John opened his eyes, raising one eyebrow. “Even if it’s above an eight?”

Sherlock pursed his lips. “Well. Maybe if it’s above an eight.”

John chuckled. “I didn’t even make reservations for anything. How about Angelo’s later?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Much later. After we’ve shagged two, maybe three more times.”

John rolled his eyes. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Sherlock smiled. “You said you’d do whatever I wanted.”

“And what do you want, love?” John reached up to stroke Sherlock’s hair, the way he always did after they had sex.

Sherlock looked up at the window, as the snow drifted downward outside silently. There was nothing else he wanted, not anymore. There was nothing left to chase after. Sure, there would always be cases, but there would also be John. And maybe someday in the far future, a cottage in the country somewhere, where John would write under a patio while he worked in the garden, and bees buzzed in the background.

“This,” Sherlock said, finally. “You.”

John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s forehead, briefly. “Well that,” he said softly, “you will always have.”


End file.
